


The words you said (The words I wanted you to say)

by zjemciciastko



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospitals, M/M, Mentions of Injuries and Death, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-12 23:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17477171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjemciciastko/pseuds/zjemciciastko
Summary: The box feels heavy in Marc’s pocket despite not actually weighing much. It’s not the box itself, he knows, it’s the meaning of what’s inside that adds these additional grams, but he doesn’t know what to do with it, other than to finally gather his courage andask.





	The words you said (The words I wanted you to say)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jorgelorenzo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jorgelorenzo/gifts).



> Dear Jazz, I promised to write something for you, so here it is. I hope it lives up to your expectations, all my love goes to you <3

The box feels heavy in Marc’s pocket despite not actually weighing much. It’s not the box itself, he knows, it’s the meaning of what’s inside that adds these additional grams, but he doesn’t know what to do with it, other than to finally gather his courage and _ask._

Marc fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt as he listens to Valentino talking about one of his patients, an older lady who keeps on calling him son, and he nods, enamoured with each word and gesture. The furrowed brows, the arms doing the talking as much as Valentino’s lips do, Marc loves everything about them. Valentino laughs, immediately provoking a similar reaction in Marc, and it’s moments like this that reassure him that yes, the decision he’s made is right.

The restaurant they’re at is one of the smaller ones, cosy, letting them forget about the noise and hurry they live in. Marc was the one who chose it. He hesitated between this one and maybe a different one, one they haven’t been to before, but in the end, he decided something familiar would be more appropriate for the occasion. 

The waiter places the still steaming dishes in front of them, and Marc laughs when Valentino’s hand nudges his, _accidentally._ The innocent expression, Valentino covering his mouth with his palm, only adds to the show; Marc is pretty sure they must come across as a bit obnoxious, or maybe like the teenagers in love they haven’t been for a while, but he grins and blows his lover an intentionally loud kiss, happy when he also receives one in return. 

A little later, they clink the glasses, the red wine swishing as Valentino makes a toast. “To us.”

He rises the glass, before tilting it and sipping on the drink. 

“To love,” Marc responds, seconds before taking a gulp of his.

A little bit of liquid courage could be useful, as the palms of his hands are covered with sweat and he can’t think of a way to wipe them in a discreet manner. It’s good that his legs aren’t visible under the table, because he is sure that today he won’t be able to keep them still for more than a few seconds at a time.

Valentino’s already managed to complain how the supposedly Italian food doesn’t compare to anything his mother can prepare, and Marc shares the sentiment, since nothing compares to the food cooked by his. Nonetheless, he feigns the offense, because if Valentino’s apology consists of a kiss, he’s more than happy to accept it. 

They rarely stop talking, with maybe the sounds usually heard in the bedroom being the exception, and it’s no different now. The food disappears from the plate in a blink of an eye, apparently not as bad as Valentino said it was. Normally, Marc would tease him about it, but he chooses not to, his throat too tight to make it as light-hearted as it should be. 

After putting the cutlery back on the plate, Marc rises up from the chair. His legs are feeling like jelly, just like his brain is, melting from the overload of the emotions. _Now is the right time,_ he tells himself in an attempt not to chicken out. Breathe, be brave. Ask. Don’t forget about asking. 

Valentino rises an eyebrow, and that’s how Marc knows he has all of his attention. So he does what he’s been thinking about all this time, and falls to his knee.

Marc reaches inside his pocket and almost drops the box, that’s how wet his hands are. At first, he cannot open it, trying from the wrong side, fiddling with it, before he finally succeeds in lifting the lid. His lungs are empty and so is his head, but Marc has rehearsed the question so many times that if he were to remember only one sentence for the rest of his life, it would probably be it. 

After taking the last deep breath to calm his nerves, he asks. “Will you marry me?”

*

“You aren’t thinking about him, are you?”

The question makes Marc look up, breaking him out of his thoughts. He shakes his head, smiling at Alex weakly and, most likely, not convincingly. He _is_ thinking about Valentino, he hardly ever isn’t, but admitting it is not something he wants to do. It makes him feel like he’s stuck in the past, unable to move on. 

So he’d rather let a small lie slip out, a harmless one, even if one look at Alex is enough to tell it wasn’t believable. “No, I’m not.”

Alex, obviously, doesn’t buy it.

He nudges Marc in the shoulder, and Marc hates that pity more than anything. “Marc, it’s been three years.”

More than three years, actually, but Marc doesn’t need Alex pointing it out for him. He takes the last gulp of the water, crushing the bottle with more force than is needed. “You think I don’t know?” he snaps. “You think I haven’t tried to move on?”

Immediately, he starts feeling bad when Alex moves away a bit, the wide eyes really making him look like Bambi. 

Marc huffs, now in an even worse mood. He remembers _that_ day clearly. Himself, kneeling in front of a stunned Valentino. How the velour box felt beneath the tips of his fingers. And, of course, that _no_ , spoken with a rasp, as Valentino hastily gathered his belongings, only for Marc to never see him again.

Three years later, that _no_ is still ringing in his ears, just as vibrant as back then. 

“I’m sorry,” Alex looks down, aware that he’s overstepped the line. “I’m just worried about you.”

Marc waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Don’t mention it. You’re up for motocross today?”

Motocross is good. It always manages to take his mind off things. Like thinking about _why?_ or what he could’ve done in a different way, so that he wouldn’t have had any things to take his mind off in the first place. 

Maybe it was his age, Valentino considering him way too immature at barely twenty-two. Or maybe he was always just a toy to fill up the space and what little time Valentino had between one shift and another. Or maybe it was something entirely else, but Marc thinks he must’ve already covered all the possibilities, and yet, he has found no answers.

So the bike is a welcome, if temporary, distraction.

Around an hour later, they’re both ready to go out on the track, the bikes waiting for them. Marc checks if his boots are fastened properly before closing the lid of the helmet, a pleasant weight on his head. He starts the bike, twists his right wrist, and forgets about anything else but going through the next turn in the best way. There’s only the machine and the ever changing ground, and with each jump Marc feels like flying, floating above what is tormenting him nearly twenty-four seven. 

Finally, he’s free, even if not for long. The rush of adrenaline is as addictive as ever, and for a moment he forgets about anything else, forgets about the whole world, united with the machine. Everything else could not exist, and he wouldn’t mind at all. 

The bubble bursts when Marc is around halfway through the lap. He’s preparing for the next turn, trying to choose the best line, both fastest and safest, when he freezes, noticing the blue bike lying at the side of the track. And, of course, the person next to it.

There isn’t any doubt that it’s Alex on the ground. 

It’s only the fact that he’s been riding on tracks for so many years that prevents Marc from breaking the most basic rules and stopping his own bike, or worse, turning around and going the wrong way. His mind is being filled with all kinds of visions, not one of them to his liking as they all revolve around the extent of Alex’s injuries.

Somehow, Marc makes it back to the boxes, not thinking about riding anymore, his mind full of concern. Hopefully it isn’t that bad. Hopefully it’s just a sprained wrist, some bruises and maybe be a few scratches, but no more than that. He shouldn’t have suggested motocross in the first place, that was a bad idea, but it’s not like Marc could’ve predicted it. 

(Could he?)

After tossing the bike aside, he finds out that Alex isn’t there, that the paramedics are looking after him on the track. Marc looks over to that turn where his little brother should be, and worries his lip.

_That’s never a good sign._

In the end, he sees Alex when they’re taking him to the ambulance, his left arm bend at an unnatural angle. His brother’s face is twisted in a grimace, chest expanding rapidly, the groans escaping whenever Alex attempts to move the limb. 

And that’s all Marc needs to know to conclude that the fracture is bad. 

No one tells him anything, only the name of the hospital they’re talking his little brother to is mentioned briefly, seconds before the car door closes. For a moment, he stands there, motionless and quiet. He knows the hospital, of course, and he shouldn’t be too worried because he knows they have both good doctors and good equipment.

He also knows it’s the one Valentino works at. 

(Or used to work at? Marc cannot be sure anymore.) 

The thoughts in his head are a swirling mess, worry mixing with confusion and memories he never wanted to relive. He’s weighting the options, what he should do, how to act, what his next steps should be. His stomach is a knot, but with what is most likely a small horror, Marc realises that worry isn’t the only thing to be blamed for it. 

Because he recognizes the excitement he’s always felt at the prospect of seeing Valentino all too well. 

Marc swallows sharply, letting his tongue swipe over his cracked lips. He knows that the hospital Alex is being transported to has other goods doctor. He’s heard all the praises. But he also knows which doctor is the best of them all. The memories are still vivid; he remembers those thankful faces, the joy when they found out that everything went well and they’d be back to health in no time. 

He remembers those patients looking at Valentino as if he performed not surgeries, but rather miracles. 

If it was his own broken arm, Marc would grit his teeth and deal with it. But it happened to Alex, and maybe it should change nothing, but it changes everything. His little brother’s wellbeing is more important than his own shattered heart. 

So Marc opens the inner pocket of his suit, grabbing the phone. He unlocks the screen, his thumb hovering above it when he’s fighting the last of his internal battle, before giving up. Eventually, he hides his caller ID, because he’s sure there wouldn’t be an answer otherwise, and dials the number that’s still etched deep into his memory. 

He’s tapping his foot on the ground, looking around as he listens to the beeps, one, two, three, waiting for the call to be accepted. It takes so long, too long, and he’s never been a patient man, there isn’t anything on his mind but _pick up already._

When it finally happens, Valentino’s voice is hoarse, hoarser than Marc remembers. “Rossi speaking.”

For a second, all thoughts fly out of his head, leaving only a bottomless void in their stead. Just the mere sound of Valentino’s accent makes all of Marc’s feelings rush back, the blood thudding in his ears, heart missing a beat here and there, fingers clenching the phone tighter. He almost hates how he’s still so affected, how he needs to take a deep inhale to be able to find any words, gain the ability to speak back. 

Focus, he needs to focus, as this isn’t about him, this is about Alex. 

One of the bikes leaves the garage, the engine’s noise enough to distract him momentarily. When Marc is finally capable of moving his lips again, his message is curt and to the point. “Alex got hurt. He’s on his way to the hospital.”

Those few seconds of silence on Valentino’s end of the line are horrifying. Marc feels as if the air was leaving him slowly, in waves, like a balloon that got punctured and there isn’t anything that could be done to prevent it from shrinking fully. That’s it. He should’ve known better, he shouldn’t have called at all. But now it’s too late, what’s done is done, and Marc regrets every single decision he’s made today. 

He’s getting ready to hear a rejection, or maybe even nothing at all, as both seem to be Valentino’s thing, when his ear detects that accent again.

Valentino sounds exhausted, the impression only amplified by the phone’s speaker. “What happened?”

This time, the air actually leaves Marc’s lungs, letting relief fill his body. No more than five minutes later, he’s passing almost every car in sight, all of them moving agonizingly slow, blocking the lane and therefore also his way to Alex. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he makes a final overtake before turning the vehicle into the road leading directly to the hospital.

Marc knows that Alex is in good hands. There’s no doubt. 

Because no matter how good Valentino is at breaking hearts, he’s even better at fixing limbs. 

*

The hospital chair is especially uncomfortable and Marc’s pacing rather than sitting, stepping from one part of the corridor to another, checking the time very two minutes. He knows the surgery should take quite a lot of time, not to mention the time Alex will have to spend in the post-op, but he cannot help it. 

And, even if he’d rather deny it, Alex’s surgery isn’t the only thing forcing his feet to move, heart to speed up.

Marc shrugs his jacket off, throwing it carelessly on one of the plastic chairs. It’s no longer clinging to his skin, but he doubts it was the reason of the sheen of sweat forming on his forehead, as his hand are the temperature of ice. The possibility of not even meeting Valentino properly, but merely seeing him after all those years has Marc on edge, two conflicting feelings clashing, longing trying to overcome the hurt that hasn’t stopped ever since they last saw each other. 

He tries to prepare himself for it, forming speeches in his head, arranging words into sentences that would convey his disappointment but not reveal the extent of his pain. Nothing sounds right, nothing sounds good, and Marc draws blood when his teeth graze his bottom lip too hard. All of his efforts are useless.

When he sees the white coat, he throws the phone aside, not carrying that it crashes on the floor, possibly breaking.

Marc walks up to the man, or rather runs up to would be more true to reality, catching him right before the doctor enters one of the rooms. “Excuse me, can I speak to doctor Rossi?” he asks pleadingly. “My brother, Alex Marquez, has just had his surgery.”

His eyes land on the doctor’s plaque, the one pinned to the front on his coat. _Jorge Lorenzo._ Marc is sure he’s heard the name before, Valentino must’ve mentioned it. It can’t be a coincidence. He tries to associate it with something, to find some connotations and connexions, before he suddenly has a moment of clarity, things falling into place.

_You must be Yorg. ___

__Meeting Valentino’s old friend is just another surprise of the day._ _

__“Doctor Rossi is currently busy,” Jorge says, and his jaw is so tense that Marc doesn’t believe a word. “The surgery went well. The patient is currently in the recovery room and should be transported to a regular room in around an hour.”_ _

__The usual procedure, nothing Marc hasn’t heard before and nothing he hasn’t been through before. Not a satisfying answer, not enough, too little details, too impersonal. Not told by the right person. He suspects what the motive behind it might be, but that doesn’t mean he’s believing in that generic response._ _

__Marc isn’t letting it go that easily._ _

__“I know that doctor Rossi was the main surgeon,” he speaks politely, though the hints of his impatience are distinguishable. “I’d like to speak with him personally.”_ _

__He takes a step forward, well aware that he’s breaching Jorge’s personal space, but not caring about it at all. It’s obvious that this isn’t a coincidence, not a random turn of events. Marc is certain that Jorge’s acting on Valentino’s behalf, playing his part in some kind of a plan, and his blood is beginning to boil._ _

__Jorge pushes his chest forward a bit in an attempt to make himself seem bigger, but it has little effect, as their eyes are on the same level. “I can’t help you in any way.”_ _

__In the next second, he turns around, his shoes squeaking against the polished floor, and it’s only Marc’s quick reflexes that prevent Jorge from leaving, the fingers closing on the pristine whiteness of Jorge’s sleeve._ _

__“He doesn’t even have to guts to talk to me in person, he sends you?”_ _

__Marc doesn’t bother hiding the bitterness._ _

__The lines on Jorge’s face get deeper, the frown harsher than just a second ago. “Don’t talk about things you know nothing about.”_ _

__And he disappears, leaving Marc with more questions than answers._ _

__*_ _

__It actually is a coincidence that Marc sees the tall figure at the end of the corridor, passing by, clearly unaware of the eyes settled on their back._ _

__His movements are quick, just a few of them, more jumps than actual steps. Marc can’t deny the satisfaction spreading through his body when Valentino’s eyes get that little bit bigger, when his mouth opens, lower lip jutting out a bit, though no sounds are heard. Valentino won’t make a show here, Marc knows, but he blocks the possible escape route either way. Just in case._ _

__“Nice to see you,” he says, trying to ignore how his heart clenches the moment he manages to catch Valentino’s eyes._ _

__There might be a temporary flash of panic in them, easily missed with an ill-timed blink. Marc doesn’t miss it, afraid that if his eyelids closed barely for a second, the man standing before him would vanish, just like he did years before. And, against his will, there are shivers running down his spine, little electric shocks he didn’t expect to experience upon meeting his ex-lover._ _

__Valentino throws his head backwards, and the silver in his ear glistens with the movement. “Marc, not here.”_ _

“Where, then?”

_Nowhere? That’s where?_

__Marc suspects that could be Valentino’s preferred option._ _

__There is a nurse lingering nearby, giving them what Marc could only name as suspicious look. Valentino nods at her, his lips smiling, but the eyes not. “Listen, I have a surgery I need to prepare for. I’m sorry, but I need to go now,” he says to Marc, looking around as if for a chance to escape._ _

__Marc can’t stop the bitterness from slipping in. “And run away, like the last time?”_ _

__For a second, Valentino looks as if he got stung, the lines on his face forming a grimace. Marc probably should feel victorious at that. It’s nothing compared to what he has been through. Nothing compared to his pain. But he can’t, and the only thing his mind desires, his body yearns for, is to envelop Valentino in an embrace and mesh their lips together in an unsuccessful attempt at making up for the lost years._ _

__Valentino plays with the top button of his coat, twirling it around. “No, not like last time,” he sighs, and for a moment it seems like he’s aged ten years, not just a little over three. “I end my shift at seven. Wait for me in front of this office, okay?”_ _

__Marc nods. It’s not like he has any other choice._ _

__*_ _

__Marc isn’t sure if he’s dreading the possibility of Valentino not showing up, or secretly hoping for it._ _

__He hates doing it, but he sells Alex a lie, a simple one about having to end this project for work or else his boss will have his head. He can’t tell if he’s so convincing or maybe it’s the amount of medicines being pumped into Alex’s body, but his little brother doesn’t ask questions, and Marc is glad._ _

The door he’s spend the last five minutes leaned against is mostly white, but beginning to acquire that ugly yellowish tint already. He’s always disliked white, something Valentino used to laugh at, accompanied by _I’ll remember to never ask you to get me from work,_ but Marc would still offer to do it, without hesitation. Then. Now. However, Valentino always denied, and it would be the most ironic thing were today the day for it to happen, Marc thinks.

__Five minutes later he’s starting to doubt Valentino is actually going to show up at all. The only people passing by him are some patients, some using crutches, but still strolling down the corridor. Marc waves back at a little girl who sends him the biggest of smiles, and at least she manages to distract him for a moment, forget for whom he’s waiting._ _

__It’s short-lived, and a moment later, he pulls on the doorknob. Maybe it’s what he should’ve done in the first place, not stand there like an idiot, waiting for a miracle to occur and it never will. He tries to open it, using more strength than is necessary even, but the door doesn’t budge. Instead, the disappointment settles in._ _

__It does look like he was right and Valentino never planned on showing up._ _

__It’s when Marc’s already decided to go home, that there isn’t any point in waiting, just like there hasn’t been any in the last three years, that Valentino greets him finally. “We should go somewhere else,” he murmurs, and Marc agrees that yeah, maybe the hospital isn’t the best place for such a talk._ _

__They end up in a random coffee shop, the first one that isn’t too crowded, neither too shady looking. There are few people there, giving the sense of privacy they both definitely need. Marc squeezes himself into a seat in the corner farthest from the entrance, watching as Valentino falls on the chair opposite him, silent._ _

__They place their orders, one of the waitresses staring at them in a way that Marc deems too interested, only exchanging words with her, not with each other. It’s as if neither of them dares to speak first. It’s as if neither of them knows what to say, even if there’s so much that should be discussed, so many things left unsaid between them. It’s as if they were too scared. The most likely case._ _

__Marc is the first to disturb that silence, hoping he looks braver than he feels. “I just want to clarify a few things.”_ _

__It sounds awfully formal and not at all like how he used to talk to Valentino. Not what they talks used to look like. But at this point, Marc isn’t sure how he should talk to him, since it’s been so long since they last talked at all._ _

__Valentino takes a sip of his coffee, and Marc doesn’t fail to notice how the liquid in the cup, filled to the brim, almost spills over his shaky fingers. “Okay. I’m listening.”_ _

_Except it should be me listening to what **you** have to say._

__All of the talks he’s been preparing in the last few hours evaporate, letting his heart speak, rather than mind. “You couldn’t have even spared five minutes to tell me how Alex’s surgery went?”_ _

__This is what hurts the most, what Marc deems the most painful. Valentino not considering him worthy of having that little bit of his time, attention, stings, the taste bitter on Marc’s tongue. He’s long given up on working the reasons out, Valentino’s thought process something he stopped understanding, though he can’t pinpoint the exact moment when._ _

__Valentino stares at the ground. “You didn’t want to see me.”_ _

__Marc is ready to burst out with laughter, hysterical, the possibility of attracting unwanted attention the only thing stopping him._ _

__“I didn’t want you to assume things, but that’s exactly what you’re doing now,” he says, stirring his tea violently, some droplets staining the table._ _

__“I’m not assuming anything,” Valentino’s fingers tremble when he holds the cup to his lips; as do Marc’s when he takes a sip from his. “Alex told me very clearly you didn’t want to see me ever again.”_ _

“Alex did what?” _What the hell?_ “ When?”

__“Before the surgery,” Valentino answers, and Marc needs to rub his eyes from disbelief. “He was twisting in pain, but he cares about you so much that he made sure I wouldn’t approach you, that I knew my presence wasn’t welcome.”_ _

__Marc isn’t sure if he should be moved by Alex’s concern, or rather be angry at how his little brother thinks he isn’t capable of making his own decisions._ _

He crosses legs at the knees and props elbows on the table in an attempt at having some support, even if just physical. “I know it was one-sided.” On my side only, Marc thinks, his chest feeling tight. “But you could’ve said something. Not leave me kneeling there like an idiot.”

_Not let my heart and hopes shatter like that._

__This time Valentino does spill his coffee, though it lands mostly on the table, thankfully not on his lap. It’s an instinctive reaction, a reflex, for Marc to grab the napkin and try to be of some help, the topic of their conversation temporarily forgotten._ _

__The knuckles of Valentino’s left hand are reddened. His face is the opposite, noticeable paler than it was just a few minutes before, and his voice appears as if it had to go through some obstacles before finally reaching Marc’s ears. “It was never one-sided.”_ _

__Marc is sure he must’ve misheard._ _

__There is no explanation, no clarification, no nothing. There’s only this melancholy painted on Valentino’s features, something Marc doesn’t remember seeing before. And he feels lost, more lost than he’s ever been._ _

__“It wasn’t? Then why? For fuck’s sake, Vale,” Marc growls, still not believing his ears. He tries to blink the wetness already pooling in the corners of his eyes away, then wiping it with his sleeve. It’s not successful; no more than a few seconds later he can taste salt on his lips. “Why?”_ _

__“I got scared,” Valentino says simply, as if it explained everything._ _

__Marc can’t stop the sarcasm from seeping in to his words. “You got scared? That’s it? It’s not like you could’ve said something or anything,” he punctuates each sentence with a low hiss, air swishing through his lips. “Jesus, it’s not like I wanted to get married on the next day, you know?”_ _

__Stubbornly, Valentino shakes his head. “Marc, you don’t understand.”_ _

__No, Marc clearly doesn’t._ _

__He wraps his arms in front of his chest. He’s not going to make it any easier for Valentino. His former lover has made everything hard enough for him, after all. But even after everything, after all this pain and suffering, Marc’s stupid heart can’t help picking up speed upon seeing Valentino. The butterflies, or whatever it is in his stomach, must be doing some really wild dancing now._ _

__Finally, Valentino throws the napkin he’s been crumpling on the saucer, missing. “I had a fiancé before.”_ _

__The anger comes out against Marc’s will. “So what?” he taunts. He’s tired, too tired for the excuses. “You thought that since he had broken your heart, I’d do it, too?”_ _

__He’s being unfair, he knows, but he isn’t capable of holding back anymore._ _

__Valentino hides his face in his palms, only the top of his head visible. Marc doesn’t understand. Sure, his words were harsh and a bit of an assholish move. He’s ready to apologise for them, too, his impulsive nature getting the better of his while it wasn’t something he truly meant._ _

__He doesn’t get to, as his mouth dries completely first._ _

__Marc blinks a few times, but the image doesn’t change. Valentino’s shoulders are shaking, and now that Marc looks at him properly, it’s not only the shoulders, his whole body is trembling and the effort put into stopping is fruitless, only getting stronger by each second._ _

__The guilt is already forming in the pit of Marc’s stomach, and he’s feeling strangely detached from everything as he tries to make sense of what he’s seeing and hearing._ _

__That sob surely must’ve been a part of his imagination, right?_ _

_Right?_

__“Vale-“ Marc tries, but Valentino swats his arm away._ _

__“He didn’t break my heart. Not directly, at least,” he says; the wetness in his voice is evident, his effort to keep it steady going to waste. “He was involved in an accident. Dead on arrival.”_ _

__“You never told me,” Marc chokes out, at a loss of words._ _

__Suddenly, everything is cold as he tries to process what Valentino’s telling him, hearing it but not comprehending. The dinner he ate almost makes its way back up, and he presses a fist to his stomach to hold it down, to not let it all on the table. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt a nausea so strong that it sort of blocks almost everything else, almost every stimulus from reaching him. Only Valentino, there’s only Valentino and the pain hidden in his eyes, the hurt laced in his voice, and Marc doesn’t think he’s ever been in such a state._ _

__And then, it becomes even worse._ _

__“You were the first person I dated after he had died,” Valentino confesses, and this time Marc feels as if he actually received a punch to the stomach. “I had had some hook-ups, but not a real boyfriend. Actually,” he adds after a small pause, “I hadn’t thought I’d date ever again.”_ _

__The pieces Marc’s heart was in turn into dust._ _

__The phone begins to beep, but Valentino declines the call immediately, his attention swayed only for a second. “Sorry for that.”_ _

__“It’s fine,” Marc finds himself saying, without really being aware of what leaves his lips._ _

__“Anyway. So when you proposed, I got scared. It was too soon and too fast.” A short break for Valentino to order his thoughts, a short break for Marc to wipe the new tears away. “So while I know it doesn’t change a thing, the only thing I can say is that I’m sorry and that I’ve really loved you.”_ _

__Valentino looks at him when he says the last words, and that’s when Marc’s heart does a leap and his stomach a somersault. He pinches the skin on the back of his hand because he surely must’ve heard something wrong, misheard a word or maybe five. Valentino says nothing more, but his eyes carry a softness Marc is well acquainted with, or at least used to be, and the air is gone from his lungs, just like the thoughts are gone from his brain._ _

__It takes him a moment to regain composure, some seconds where Valentino’s words play on repeat like a broken record, and Marc can’t tell how much it takes for them to sink in, but he knows it’s too long._ _

__His voice sounds shaky and unfamiliar the next time his lips part. “Have? You said you have loved me, not that you did. Does this mean..?”_ _

__He doesn’t dare finishing the sentence._ _

__There is a small smile playing around Valentino’s lips, one that has nothing to do with happiness or amusement. His fingers are on his earring once again, enough of a clue for Marc to guess the state of his mind, that nervous habit still present. “It means that I’m an idiot and don’t deserve even the smallest glance from you,” Valentino says. “But yes, I still love you.”_ _

__If Marc gets another surprise today, his heart may not be able to deal with it anymore._ _

__There’s only noise in his ears, the sound of each beat of his heart amplified tenfold or maybe thousandfold. The skin of his lips breaks from the pressure of his teeth, Marc can feel the stinging, and he wets them, but it helps with nothing. He’s waiting for the joke that doesn’t seem to be there, or maybe to wake up in his own, empty bed, having dreamt it all. The screeching chair, Valentino trying to stand up, is what breaks Marc out of this trance, and he moves, caution thrown to the wind._ _

__“I love you, I love you so much,” he breathes out, the last two words already spoken against Valentino’s lips, slightly chapped and tasting of salt, courtesy of the tears they’ve both shed. But at the same time, Marc thinks it’s the sweetest taste ever because Valentino tastes like a long-awaited return, like an unlikely reunion of what was supposed to stay separated forever. He tastes like a destination. Like home. Love._ _

__He tastes like everything Marc has ever wanted._ _

__The feel of Valentino’s hand on his back is both comforting and burning, those little caresses sending shivers down Marc’s spine. He doesn’t care that he’s clinging onto Valentino, all of his limbs latched on the man, because Marc has waited long enough for this, and now, he’s not letting go._ _

__“I’m staying with you tonight,” Marc declares after they part briefly. He’s not accepting any objections, it’s already decided._ _

Valentino’s hand is resting on Marc’s hip, and it fills Marc with a stupid amount of joy, that he remembered, that those small, _their,_ details haven’t been forgotten. There’s also no protest on Valentino’s side; he nods, the eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “Okay. Good for me.”

*

It’s only later, when their skin is covered with sweat, bare bodies hardly hidden by the wrinkled sheets, that Marc brings _the_ topic up. Quietly, unlike how he’s been for the last thirty minutes or so. “I still have that ring, you know.”

__At first, Valentino’s gaze is unfocused, the high still affecting him to some point. He narrows his eyes and blinks a few times, surely trying to figure it out, what Marc is talking about. “You’re not..?”_ _

Marc admires the redness of his lips and the rosiness of his cheeks. “No, no. I’m not proposing to you. Not now, at least,” he says. Neither the right place nor the right time. “But maybe someday?”

__He is sure his heart could jump out of his chest any moment. But he needs to ask, he needs to know. Another rejection is not something he could handle, even in the future._ _

__“Mhm,” Valentino hums against the side of Marc’s neck, tracing the purple splotch decorating the skin with his tongue. “Someday is good.”_ _

And Marc smiles. It’s not perfect. They still have a lot of things to work out. But that _someday_ equals hope, and that’s all Marc needs to know for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Vale breaking Marc's heart is a recurring theme, so here we go again. But I gave them a happy ending, so it's okay, I guess?
> 
> I've been a bit busy lately and not very confident in my writing, so I haven't been very active, but hopefully you guys still like it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> (You can also find me at 4693words.tumblr.com)


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